Before the Fall
by Star18
Summary: This story gives an imagining of what happened between the main characters of TC  -John, Elizabeth, & Abigail-  before the play took place. Rating may change to M for future chapters. Read/Review as always ;
1. Chapter 1: John

_A/N: Hello, all! This is my first Crucible fanfic- in fact, it's only my second story period on this website. My other story is in the Wuthering Heights fandom (it's called The Heights, so check it out if you're interested in WH)._

_But, anyway! I've always been a huge fan of the Crucible play (and yes, the movie too). I've also always wanted to write something about it here, I just didn't know what until recently. So, one day I was feeling like procrastinating on my school work, and happened to be thinking about this play, so I just started typing out my thoughts...and this is what came out. This story will for the most part be a rendition/imagining of the events PRIOR TO the events in the original play The Crucible. I haven't decided whether or not I plan on including the actual original story or not. We'll see what the response is to this story, and what my muse feels about it._

_If I get a good response to it, then I'll continue. If not, well, I suppose it'll just be a one shot. So...REVIEWREVIEWREVIEW! Not just because I actually want to continue writing this, but because I really do appreciate reviews so very much. Anyone who is reading/reviewing The Heights knows that they really do motivate me to keep writing. I'm not a quitter. So, if this story does well, and gets a good reception, then none of you have to worry about me abruptly dropping it off the face of the earth- I finish what I start, no matter how long it takes._

_Okay, I've jabbered on for too long already. Here's the first chapter, enjoy it. Oh btw: if I do end up continuing it, I MAY think about bumping up the rating to M, just because of some mature material that I'm considering putting in. Just a heads up. Peace lovelies,_

_-Jess_

**Chapter One : John**

"She's a decent woman."

Abel Proctor stayed bent over his bowl of stew and bread, speaking in between the spoonfuls and hunks of food he shoveled into his mouth. He ate seemingly without relish or distaste, only inserting the food into his mouth as if it were the hay that he forked into his barn; just another act of labor of the other multitudinous labors of a farmer.

"She comes from a good family. Good, moral household. Not a whisper of gossip about her."

The younger man sitting at his right at the table was not eating. In fact he had barely touched his food. He stared down blindly at the table, chewing the inside of his lip, like he always did when he was deep in thought. He looked across the table at the woman sitting at his father's left side, who also not eating her food. His mother also had not eaten, her gaze fixed upon him. She smiled at him encouragingly. Try as he might, he could not return it.

He nodded in reply, "I know that, Father." he said quietly.

"She is not slovenly, or vain. She's kept her father's house in proper order since her mother's death five year ago. To be sure, she's no beauty, but what use is that to you? She'd make you a good wife, John."

He nodded again, "I know that, Father."

And the truth was that he did know it. Everything his father (and mother, when in private) had said and was saying to him was true.

Elizabeth Kilbourne was a worthy and honest woman. She was hard-working, dutiful, church-going. No one had anything to say but good things of her and her family. She had all the makings of a proper, Puritan wife.

Of course, no one also ever neglected to mention the plainness of her appearance. For though it was never said in malice or slander, there was just simply no getting around it. Her father, Josiah, was plain. Her mother, Leah, had been plain. And she had borne him even plainer children- Ephraim and Elizabeth.

The scarlet fever outbreak of 1642 had taken both Ephraim and Leah. Josiah was left to raise Elizabeth on his own. He had never seemed to consider remarrying, seeming to prefer to allow his daughter to take charge of his household when she came of age.

Elizabeth was twenty three now, an age that some would consider outrageous for a young woman to have not married by then. There had been speculation and gossip in the village if Josiah ever intended to arrange a marriage for his daughter, or if he intended to keep her for himself for the rest of his days, ending her an old maid.

Then his friend, Abel Proctor, had proposed a match between Elizabeth, and his only child and son, John. Suddenly, it seemed that Josiah was willing to agree to the marriage.

It did not seem to matter that John was four years her junior, nor that John had shown a visible, yet respectful interest in Mercy, the youngest daughter of the Clare family.

John had a feeling that Josiah had appreciated the potential advantages of a marriage between he and Elizabeth. Although they lived on the outskirts of Salem, in the farming country, the Proctor name was well respected and carried a substantial amount of weight within the community. Their land was vast and plentiful, yielding a harvest that gave ample supply to the entire town. In marrying John, Elizabeth would be marrying into a good, wealthy family- one of the best and most wealthy, in fact.

In marrying Elizabeth, John would be taking a good, honest wife, who would take good care of his house, give him comfort, and no doubt bear him children to carry on the Proctor name and inherit his land.

John had known that this day was coming for some time. He was not deaf to the conversations that Abel and Miriam Proctor had with one another at night before the fire. Many a time as a boy he had crept out of his bed and sat at the top of the stairs, eavesdropping to their words. It was a habit he continued to indulge in. He'd known for weeks about his father's plans for he and the Kilbourne girl.

And yet...

He could not help the feeling of hesitation that seemed to weigh down upon him like a heavy coat. Nor could he help the sensation of dissatisfaction that came when he thought of being married to Elizabeth.

It wasn't from any great affection or love for Mercy Clare. Though John did like her, and would have been satisfied with marrying her, he did not pretend to be in love with Mercy. She was a very pretty, sweet sort of girl, to be sure. But she lacked a great deal in substance or any real intelligence. She was just so vastly...typical. So like all the other girls of Salem who were taught and admonished to think and feel nothing besides what they had been taught and admonished to to think and feel by their families and the church. And though that type of thing may have suited most of his male counterparts, including his father, John had never held any regard for it. He was no one's master and he was certainly no one's god. He didn't want a marriage that would allow him to become either to a woman. Since he was to marry (as he knew that he must someday), he at least wanted someone who would be his partner- a part of himself, as the scriptures instructed.

Love was not something he required. It was not typical among most marriages that were formed within the village, and expecting it or desiring it more often than not earned the reproach of elders that were all too often suspicious of lustful thoughts or inclinations. Love and passion were dangerous elements in Salem.

No, John didn't need a woman that was in love with him. But he did want someone that at least could be his friend...

Though the close relationship of their father's had allowed them to exchange brief words with one another, John scarcely knew Elizabeth at all. They might have been strangers. Could he expect such a thing from Elizabeth? Would she be like Mercy and every other girl in Salem? Or could they possibly form something more meaningful between them than the restrained, stiff veneer of cordiality that seemed to exist between nearly every married couple he'd ever met?

Miriam seemed to notice the way he had withdrawn into his thoughts. As if to pull him out of them, she reached out and gently touched his forearm, "John," she said softly, her voice a gentle lull from years of grooming and training to never rise above more than a mere murmur, "Will you not speak, my son?" she asked.

John cleared his throat, "I...I am...aware of Miss Kilbourne's...virtues. She is a good girl, and would a make proper, dutiful wife."

Abel looked up from his food, arching his brow suspiciously, "And yet?" he asked gruffly. He had heard the hesitation in John's voice and was obviously displeased with it.

John's mouth opened and closed stupidly as he tried to grasp for the proper words to say, "W-well...I am not sure...I'm not...that is to say I'm not...not certain-"

His father made a sound of disgust, "Spit it out, will you boy? Speak like a man!"

And suddenly, he was able to find the exact words that were running through his mind, "Father, I simply do not think I would like to be married to her." He let the words linger in the air for a few moments, before hastily adding, "At least not now." as if the caveat would soften the brunt of them.

He could tell by the thick, heavy silence in the room that it did not.

Abel stared at him through narrowed, glaring eyes, "'_Like _to be married to her'?" he repeated dumbfoundedly, "That is your only excuse, is it?"

"Abel..." his wife broke in gently, attempting to calm him.

It was to no avail, however. "I tell you of a good, hard-working, Christian girl who is in need of a husband- the daughter of one of _my _closest friends," Abel said, his voice becoming more harsher and impatient by the moment, "And you, you sit there in all your stammers and silences, and tell me you would not _like_ to be married to her!"

John gave a small sigh, "Father, I-"

"Be silent!" Abel shouted, causing both John and Miriam to jump. "Your conduct is inexcusable. And your reasoning!" he scoffed in disgust again, "'Like to be married to her!' What manner of childish, ungrateful response is this! Do you think marriage an adornment for your amusement? A whim you may turn your nose up at?"

"No, sir."

"Is there another who suits your fancy? Another girl who has caught your eye? Surely you have not allowed yourself to be tempted by the wiles of Mercy Clare!"

John winced a little, feeling a small stab of guilt as Mercy's face flashed through his mind. He shook his head though, "No, sir."

"Thank God for that, in any case. She's an empty headed girl from an even more empty headed family. Not good for anything but gossip and mischief."

"That was not my meaning at all, Father. I beg your forgiveness. I did not mean to sound ungrateful." He replied, making his voice as humble and contrite as possible, all the while clenching his fists beneath the table.

Seeming somewhat abated by this, Abel sighed heavily, "Then what is the meaning of this hesitation of yours, John?"

John cleares his throat again, searching his mind for an answer that expressed how he felt but also one that would not further anger his father. It wasn't an easy task. Abel Proctor had always been different from his only child both in appearance and personality. John it seemed, had inherited everything about himself from his mother- from his dark, thick black hair and darker brown eyes, to his mild mannered, reflective nature. He had very little of Abel's abrupt, rough-around-the edges approach to matters that involved little contemplation, and much pragmatism. It had served as the source of tension between him and his father for as long as John could remember.

"Father," he began again tentatively, "I do not mean to say I find the idea of marrying Miss Kilbourne repellent. I only meant that I fear that our...persons may be so far removed and stranger to one another at this time, that we may be incapable of forming an agreeable union together."

Abel still seemed unmoved, "Persons of different natures come together all the time, John. It makes little difference or consequence to their being able to form happy marriages. Look at me and your mother- we had scarcely met above thrice times on the day of our marriage, and yet by the grace of God, we have managed to form a strong and secure union."

John dared to steal a glance at his mother at these words. Miriam's eyes were averted down to her untouched food, her face not betraying a single emotion she might have felt.

His father continued to speak, "Let you remember that you are already ten and nine years of age. You are a child no longer, and can no longer act as one. It is time that you did your duty and found a good and proper wife that will ensure you a good and proper household and an heir to all that I have built here." He jabbed his coarse finger into the wood of the table firmly. "Now, against my own better judgment, I allowed you the luxury of putting forth a choice of your own, a girl that you may have...fancied. But the time for luxury is over- it is your duty and obligation that call upon you now. I demand that you answer."

He put down his spoon and rose up from the table, coming to stand beside John as he placed a heavy hand on his son's shoulder, "So: may I tell Josiah Kilbourne that you consent to the marriage with his daughter, Elizabeth?"

John looked straight ahead stonily, feeling the last of his defiance (and his pride) being sucked out of him from his father's touch. It was useless to argue it further, he knew that now. The battle had been over and lost for him before it had even begun, "Yes, sir." he muttered.

"Good." Abel gave what could have passed as a satisfied smile, "I shall visit the Kilbournes tonight and deliver the message. Let you finish your meal, then be in the fields within the hour."

He put on his hat and went out the front door, leaving John and Miriam alone.

John's mother stood up and began clearing the dishes from the meal, pausing beside him, "Are you finished, dear?" she asked.

John nodded wordlessly, standing up also and going to the front door. He stood in the open doorway, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked out across the seemingly endless fields in front of the house.

"You barely touched your food." she commented. "Was the meal unappetizing to you?"

"Mother, please, I could hardly eat at a time like this!" he said, exasperation thinning his voice. "Between his words," he nodded straight ahead in the direction Abel had gone, "And the thoughts in my mind, I've no room to give attention to my appetite!"

"I understand."

He smiled grimly, "Do you?"

"Yes, I do...despite what you may think." She stacked the dishes into the washing tub for her to take down to the creek later, then came to stand behind him near the door. She reached out her hand and gently laid it on his shoulder, her touch so different from the touch of his father moments ago,

"John... you must try to understand."

"Why? To do his bidding? I don't need to understand him to do it, you know that. _He_ knows it!"

"That is not what I meant. I would wish you to see that what your father wishes for you in this marriage to Elizabeth Kilbourne is more than just your obedience to his will. He has done this _for_ you as well."

"For what he wishes me to be, you mean."

"No," she said firmly, "For you- and for what you are. John, I know that you and your father have never displayed any great affection for one another. I know that there are many times that he has made you cross. But you must believe me when I tell you that this match with Elizabeth Kilbourne is something your father is doing for your own benefit."

"My benefit? To marry someone I scarcely know? Someone so different than myself?"

"You said yourself you scarcely knew her John." his mother said gently, "How is it that you know she is so different from you?"

John sighed, shaking his head, "Mother..."

"Beauty and a lively spirit are not essential things to look for in a proper wife, John." she said, her tone more serious and somber than before.

He glanced backward in her direction sharply, "I never said that I found fault with her looks or spirit-"

"But that _is_ what you find fault with in her, is it not?"

John stared at her in abashed silence, not knowing what to say.

He wished that Elizabeth's Kilbourne's appearance and personality did not contribute to his feelings of discouragement at marrying her- but they did.

She was tall; taller than most women in the village, tall enough to nearly match his own height. Her figure was extremely straight (nearly rectangular) and very thin, without shape or curvature. John had never seen her without the cream colored cap that she kept securely tied at her chin, but the occasional unruly lock of hair had escaped from the cap's confines, and he had been able to see that her hair was a faded shade of auburn that had been dulled from lack of exposure to the sun. Her eyes were a faded hue of gray, yet still unremarkable. She had paper thin lips that pressed into a tight slash of a mouth. The angles of her face were harsh and sharply accentuated the plainness of her features.

John had accompanied his parents on visits to the Kilbourne household on several occasions, and he of course had seen Elizabeth in church. He allowed his mind to reminisce upon these meetings, trying to remember her behavior and demeanor at each of their sightings of one another.

She said very little to nothing to anyone, even in conversation, speaking only when spoken to and when necessary.

She looked over her father and his guests soberly, as if she were a servant, rather than the daughter of the master of the house.

John didn't think that he had ever seen her laugh. Or smile.

Many of the women her age were married with children, and he didn't know if any of them were her friends or not. He did know however, that she was a great favorite of Rebecca Nurse, Francis Nurse's wife. The old woman often visited Miriam, and somehow always managed to mention Elizabeth Kilbourne in some way,

"Such a good girl," she always said, "So calm and steady and true. She will make someone a good wife one day, mark my words."

If John had happened to be in the room, Rebecca would smile in his direction at her last words. Because he liked Rebecca, and did not wish to offend her or his mother, John would always smile indulgently back at her.

But that had been before, when his smile had been solely given in indulgence, when he would have never dreamt Elizabeth Kilbourne as a real prospect of a bride for him.

Now, he was not dreaming, and Elizabeth Kilbourne was to be his bride- and soon, if he knew his father well. Abel didn't believe in long engagements. A hard-working, abrupt man, he preferred to get his business done and completed as soon as possible. And that's what this marriage would be to him; another piece of business to be attended to and gotten out of the way.

"John," Miriam was saying to him, "I know you think that you know yourself better than your father and I. Perhaps you are right in certain respects...but you must believe that I am in earnest when I say that the kind of wife you desire...the type of companion that you covet...she would not suit you, John. She would not."

John sighed in heavy, but silent objection, folding his arms over his chest and stubbornly looking down at the ground.

"Recall the Proverbs, dear. 'A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies. Her husband has full confidence in her, and lacks nothing of value. She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life. ' It is a wife of _noble character_ that brings these things, John. Not of great beauty or spirit. Those are tools that the Devil makes far more use for than the Lord."

Normally, John loved his mother's voice. It had soothed and comforted him many a time when he was child through stormy nights and ill days, and against the worst of his father's tempers. But now, as he sat listening to her talk of marriage and wives, he wanted none of her dulcet tones and scriptures.

He suddenly felt the need to shout, to scream. To run across the expanse of his father's fields until he was panting for breath and sweating like his horse- away from here, away from Salem and all its expectations, customs, practices and demands.

And even- yes, even away from this girl, this Elizabeth Kilbourne who now either stood to gain or lose depending upon the outcome of this impending arrangement. And she did stand to lose much.

Elizabeth was already twenty three- in the minds of many, that was an ancient age for a woman not to be married and settled with her husband with at least one child in her household. She'd had no serious prospects of marriage, either.

There'd been a rumor that the doddering old widow, Thaddeus Ferguson had briefly spoken to her father about a marriage proposal, but the talk among the village was that Josiah had turned it down. Everyone knew that althoughThaddeus was wealthy, he was also a cruel, selfish brute. Even worse, he sparingly attended church and was reputed to be a private drunkard.

John believed it was only his exorbitant tithing to the church that kept the village fathers from publicly reprimanding him.

Public punishment and reprimand could be bought away in Salem for a high enough price.

But besides Ferguson, no other man had shown an interest in Elizabeth Kilbourne. And at her age, without any great fortune or property to recommend her, it was unlikely that any other man ever would.

If John did not marry her, there was an excellent chance that she would be doomed to the life of an old maid.

Even worse still- John knew that even though it had never been publicy made known, it was probably still common gossip in the village by then that Abel Proctor had entered into talks of marriage for his son with Josiah Kilbourne's homely daughter. Word and news like that always spread like wildfire- as it would also if John were to be defiant and refuse to marry Elizabeth. That kind of a rejection would be like a slap in the face- for both Josiah and Elizabeth.

She'd be humiliated, an object of ridicule and derision within the village for the rest of her life.

And it would have been all John's fault..

John shook his head, as if to speak to himself.

No. He didn't want something like that on his conscience. Especially when he stood to lose very little in capitulating.

She was a good woman. She would make a good wife.

What more, after all, could he really ask for? What more could he possibly want?

"Very well." he said, his voice quiet but firmly resolute, "I will marry her."


	2. Chapter 2: Elizabeth

**Chapter Two: Elizabeth**

"He is an altogether decent man."

A warm, encouraging smile was on Rebecca Nurse's wrinkled lips. She sat in a chair by the fire, her even more wrinkled hands laid over one another on top of her walking stick. She sat with straight, ramrod posture, as if she were presiding over a congregation rather than the modest kitchen and eating room of the Kilbourne house.

"He is young, but he is earnest, hardworking and honest." she said, continuing, "John has always been special. I have known him since he was pulled from his mother's womb, and have observed him to be naught but gentle and kind. Miriam and Abel have done well in bringing him in the ways of the Lord."

Elizabeth sat across from her, mending a shirt of her father's. She said nothing and kept her eyes downcast, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the woman who had been like a second mother to her for half of her life.

"There are of course, other obvious, favorable qualities about his person," Rebecca was saying, a knowing smile turning up her lips, "It is no punishment to look upon his face, or figure. You could scarce hope for a more handsome mate in all of Salem, I think."

Two bright spots of pink appeared at Elizabeth's cheeks, but she only pressed her lips together in mild embarrassment and continued with her sewing.

The older woman seemed to finally take notice of her silence and paused, a concerned frown wrinkling her features, "Elizabeth?" she called out, "My dear?" her hand reached out and gently laid upon Elizabeth's, making her pause in her work, "Why do you not speak? Do you...do you find any part of my words offensive?"

Elizabeth shook her head, "Of course not, Rebecca." she replied, "Nothing you said could ever be thought of as such."

"Then my child, what is the matter? Tell me."

She paused, licking her lips and finally releasing her father's shirt into her lap, "It is nothing." she answered quietly, "Nothing of great consequence."

"And yet?" Rebecca pressed.

"You know that I would never disobey my father. I will be an obedient daughter. I will brook no argument to the marriage. And yet... I cannot deny that I find myself filled with...uncertainty. "

"Uncertainty?" Rebecca gave a small chuckle of relief, "My dear child, do not let yourself be troubled! These feelings are entirely natural for a young girl to have at the prospect of marriage. Heavens, when I think of my own anxiety on the eve of my marriage to Francis. I was so out of sorts, I could scarce speak the words in my own vows," she laughed again, "All seemed so uncertain to me on that day."

Elizabeth's expression lightened, "Truly?" she asked, her voice having a small tone of hopefulness.

"Of course. It is a serious, solemn business, marriage is. Two separate individuals are entering into a holy covenant- not only with themselves, but more importantly, with the Almighty. It should not be taken or entered into upon a mere whim- it is entirely right for a girl of your character to approach it cautiously. In all earnest, I would be concerned if you did not."

Elizabeth bit her lip, "I know you are right." she said, "But Rebecca...we cannot pretend...I cannot bring myself to ignore..." Her hands stilled in their needlework as she set the shirt down on her lap. She squared her shoulders, briefly pressing her lips together resolutely before continuing, "I'm twenty three years old." she murmured quietly, "My father has little money and no great position in the village. And I'm..." she gave a small, sad smile, "I am no great beauty to behold. I bring little value to to this marriage. Mr. Proctor's family is wealthy and respected. He is younger and-" her cheeks pinkened again, "He is...pleasant in appearance. I am entering this marriage fully aware that the only reason we are being joined together is at the insistence of our fathers. He would never have chosen me as his bride himself."

Rebecca's old face was stricken as she reached out and touched Elizabeth's hand, "My dear child," she began, but Elizabeth only shook her head, pulling the hand away,

"No. No, please Rebecca...no pity." Pity was the last thing that Elizabeth wanted- from Rebecca or anyone. She had received enough pity over the years from her neighbors. People had pitied her when her mother and her brother died. People had pitied her for being the only child of Josiah Kilbourne. People pitied her because she was twenty three years old, unmarried, and would never be anything remotely close to beautiful.

If there was anything that the abundance of pity had taught Elizabeth, it was that it could be cruel. So very cruel. In Salem, on the opposite end of pity was not kindness or empathy- there, pity was accompanied by scorn and derision. People pitied the poor, the weak, the indolent; outcasts that could never hold their heads up in the village. People like Sarah Good, the homeless beggar were pitied- pitied and scorned. Nothing, absolutely nothing could be worse than being pitied as she was.

But now she was engaged to John Proctor, and Elizabeth only foresaw more of the horrible pity she'd received throughout the entirety of her life only continuing to follow her into her marriage. Even worse, she was afraid that her husband would pity her just as much as their neighbors did. The thought of being married to a man that was cruel to her was bad- but to be married to a man that pitied her was to Elizabeth, far worse.

" I wish you to know," she spoke again, her voice clear but still quiet, "I do not have any great expectations for love or affection. I know that is not what the Almighty has created marriage for. But I must also confess that I find Mr. Proctor and I to be so...unevenly matched that I neither have very much hope that he will ever care for me at all. I believe that he will- that he must- resent being forced to marry me."

"My dear," Rebecca said, "Elizabeth, how could you ever think such things? You must not think of yourself so meanly. John would have never agreed to your match if he did not at least-"

"Those are conciliatory thoughts, Rebecca- but I know the truth. Mr. Proctor's father is a very stern man. He would not wish to anger or invoke his wrath against him. No dutiful son would. Mr. Proctor and I scarcely know one another. What there is yet for him to know about me will not likely stir him to any great feelings of affection. I have accepted that."

"Nonsense." the older woman said firmly, "Hear me, child: you are kind. You are gracious, humble, obedient, righteous and chaste. These are the true qualities that a proper husband seeks in a wife- not great physical beauty. These are the qualities that will cause a marriage and flourish. You surely do not believe that Francis and I have been happy together for over thirty years because of mere physical vanity, do you?"

Elizabeth shook her head, "No, of course not. But I cannot help but see Francis as an exceptional man among all others- and your marriage is surely just as exceptional among many others in Salem-"

"Francis is an exceptional man and husband, and I daresay that we have been happier together than many other husbands and wives in this village," Rebecca agreed, "But you must believe that I am in earnest when I tell you that John Proctor is also an exceptional man, Elizabeth. He is as kind, humble, obedient and righteous as you are. The two of you are far more well matched than you realize. You will build a strong, holy union with one another- and I warrant that in given time, you will come to love and honor one another in the same spirit that Francis and have grown to do."

Elizabeth said nothing for a long moment. Rebecca's words brought a variety of emotions to her inside that she struggled to understand. On the one hand, she felt compelled to remain rooted to her grim, but steadfastly pragmatic beliefs regarding her marriage to John Proctor. Hadn't it been the foundation upon which Josiah had raised and educated her? Her father was one of the more cynical and pessimistic men that Elizabeth had ever known or seen- there was no room for dreaming, illusions or exaltation in the Kilbourne household. He had brought up Elizabeth with his embittered, harsh view of the world and its people- particularly where women were concerned.

"Women are naturally weak, feeble creatures," Josiah had told her numerous times throughout both her child and adulthood, "You are easily swayed by worldly temptations and indulgences, prone to gossip and deceit. Even worse still, physical beauty in a woman is far too often an instrument of Satan against your male betters. While it is to your advantage that you were not given any of your own, I will not abide for you to believe yourself exempt from the discipline that your sex requires. A husband's duty is to rule and chastise his wife against the temptations of the Evil One. A wife's duty is to obey him in all things."

Perhaps Rebecca was able to believe the way that she did with no difficulty because of the differences in her and Elizabeth's circumstances. Josiah had seen to it that Elizabeth had no illusions whatsoever about life, love and marriage. And although Elizabeth had not been alive when she married, she had heard that Rebecca had been a very lovely young woman at the time of her marriage. Even then, when she had seen nearly fifty summers, there was a sweet and vibrant attractiveness to Rebecca that Elizabeth found herself (although ashamedly) envious of. When Rebecca Nurse smiled or laughed, her face shone like the sun. She had deep, pure blue eyes like sapphires, a well formed mouth with full lips, and high cheek bones. Her hands were soft and delicate, the fingers slender and long with clean white nails like half moons. Even her gait was graceful everywhere she walked. For a woman of a mature age, she was nevertheless all femininity, all womanliness,

Elizabeth did not smile or laugh frequently. Her father was disproving of mirth and amusement, as he believed they made the spirit all the more susceptible to temptation from the Devil. And even if she defied his pleasure and attempted to do so anyway, she knew that it would not cause her to even minutely resemble Rebecca.

Josiah did not allow her to keep a looking glass in her bedroom, as he thought they were instruments of vanity for women. The only mirror in the household was in his room, a luxury he claimed he kept only for the sake of shaving his whiskers. In rare moments of weakness when she had been cleaning and tidying the bed chamber, Elizabeth had paused before the mirror, catching glimpses of her reflection. Because of what she saw, the moments were not frequently repeated.

She was not beautiful. There was little to nothing about herself that was even desirable. Her eyes were dull and listless, even when she smiled. Her mouth was not full like Rebecca's, but flat and thin. Her own hands were roughened and coarse, the fingers short and stubby with brittle nails stained by garden and house work. It had never occurred to her to try and clean them or improve their appearance. Because of her unusual height and rail-like build she moved awkwardly oftentimes, like a scarecrow who had only recently learned how to walk.

The thought of John Proctor coming to love her as Francis nurse loved Rebecca seemed ludicrous when in consideration of the facts of her apperance.

But on the other hand...

Suppose what Rebecca said was true, and she had unfairly judged John. Suppose he was not as superficially driven as she had observed so many other of his sex to be. Suppose he would be able and willing to respect her for the virtues that Elizabeth did strive so earnestly to achieve, even if he could never value her for any great beauty. Just suppose...

Elizabeth set her sewing aside and rose to her feet, walking to the fireplace. She stared into the tranquil flames, her expression distant and distracted with her thoughts. "I know that you would never lead me astray with careless counsel, Rebecca." she said, "I value it above all others in my life...even above my father's. I trust you more than anyone in the world. If you say that Mr. Proctor is a good man, then I must believe it. If you say that he is capable of caring for me as Mr. Nurse cares for you, then I must believe that as well. And if you truly believe that we can be happy together...I have no excuse to doubt your faith."

Rebecca also rose from her chair to come and stand beside her, the smile returned to her lips, "Then you've no more objections to the marriage?"

Elizabeth shook her head, "No. I will do what is required of me, Rebecca. I always will. I will marry Mr. Proctor- and I will try to be a good and dutiful wife to him. I will try to make him happy."

The elder woman took her face in between her hands, gently cupping Elizabeth's cheeks, "Then I can safely promise you, my dear child: all _will_ be well."

Elizabeth managed to give a small smile, "I pray you are right."  
><strong><br>**


	3. Chapter 3: What God Hath Joined Together

**Chapter Three: What God Hath Joined Together**

John stood at the window, watching the sunrise. His eyes went to the shutter, at an uneven surface on the plane of the wood. He ran his fingers over it with a faint frown. He would have to see to it later and make the necessary adjustments. No doubt there were other imperfections to be found as well, for the house he was in had been more hastily constructed than the home Abel Proctor had inherited for from his own father. This new home was the one that John had built for his own family- for he and his bride and whatever children they would bring into this world.

When word first came from the Kilbournes that Elizabeth had accepted John's marriage proposal, Abel had abruptly announced to his son that he would be excused from his normal labors beside him in their fields to see to the more imminent task of building a house of his own to present as a wedding gift to his wife. The wedding date had already been established for November the 16th. That had meant that he had all of four months to erect a house not only worthy enough to present to a bride, but a house to raise a family. Four short months.

John had known that he would have to build a house of his own for he and his family eventually. It was only customary, as the scriptures instructed for a man to leave his mother and father and cleave onto his wife. Besides, the thought of living underneath the same roof with Elizabeth and his parents wasn't the most appealing one he had ever had. The thought of escaping from the demanding expectations and presence of his father however, was very appealing to him. All the same though, he had expected to at least have a short time after the wedding to plan and build his home in the way he would have liked; carefully and methodically, after he had had time to observe and consult with Elizabeth as to her own preferences and wishes for their home. But with his father's instructions came the reality that there would be no time for any of that.

It was fortunate that John had long excelled in carpentry, even above farming. Even with the limited timetable that Abel had given him, he had worked diligently, day after day and even at times into the early evening on his and Elizabeth's new home. His father had offered no aid to him in the project, which John hadn't expected to begin with. Abel was of the type to believe that something as personal and monumental as a home had to solely come from the hands of the man who would preside over it. This house was to be a symbol of John's own manhood and efforts, something John knew his father believed him to be lacking in.

The boundaries of the Proctor property were spacious and generous enough for John to pick a patch of land a good distance away from Abel and Miriam's home on which to build his own home. It was just at the bottom of a low, but tranquil valley that adjoined a bountiful field of grains, and was one of his favorite parts of his father's land. Although he could not build the house he had always imagined being able to build for himself, John made do with what he could, and worked diligently on a house that he could nonetheless be proud of. Although not as impressive as some of the other homes in the countryside, it was still more than acceptable, with two stories, two bedrooms, and a sizeable single room on the first floor.

After the first few weeks of his laboring, Giles Corey, the farmer whose property was just upon the outskirts of John's valley began to come and help him work upon the house. Giles was a simple and admittedly uneducated man, who was not as refined and disciplined as Abel. Although his family had a decently sized and prosperous farm, it wasn't anywhere near as prosperous as the Proctors, nor the Putnams, who lived on the other adjoining side of his land. His tongue was not kept as thoroughly in cheek as perhaps it should have been. Upon several occasions, John had been able to smell alcohol on his breath. He even kept a small flask of ale concealed in one of his pockets that he had offered to John to drink from more than once. (Which John, listening to the better side of his conscience, had always refused). He also had a quick temper which the very mention of his neighbor, Thomas Putnam could set off in an instant. But regardless of his faults, Giles Corey was, in John's opinion, a very good and likable man. He was quick to lend a hand in hard work, good-natured, kind, and always able to recite an amusing, if mildly vulgar joke. The two of them had become fast and loyal friends during the course of the past four months, despite Abel's reservations and opinion that Giles was too coarse and undisciplined to be an acceptable friend for his son. He did nothing to hinder the growth of their friendship though, most likely not wanting to cause a rift or discord with so close a neighbor.

When he had first began the work on the house, the task had seemed daunting and endless. But now, as he stood in the bedroom of the finished product on the morning of his wedding day, John could not believe that four months had come and gone so quickly.

The knock at the door startled John from his thoughts. He'd no time to even reply to the knock before the door opened and his father walked into the room. John braced himself, inwardly tensing up in preparation for anything. Abel didn't speak though. Their eyes met and held in an awkward silence before he began walking slowly about the room, his hands clasped behind his back as they always were when he was prepared to say something that he considered vastly important.

"You have risen earlier than usual." he said, "I went to your chamber this morning to find that you had gone."

"I decided to come here and give the place a final inspection." John replied, "The next time I come to it will be for the ceremony itself- I wanted to ensure everything was to proper standard."

"Hmm." Abel mused, still pacing, "An all too often over-exaggerrated business, weddings are. The Almighty intended it for a solemn, serious occasion with no pomp or ceremony, and still his children partake in the vain indulgences of the flesh. I tried to tell Josiah that a dinner was entirely unnecessary. It does a disservice to his daughter to allow her such an opportunity for vanity and he serves as a poor example himself in displaying such a weakness of manhood. When your mother and I were married, you can be assured that there was no ceremony to distract us from our sacred duties to the Almighty." He glanced at John sharply, "I do hope that _you_ intend to be a better model for your wife in your marriage. A wife can have no better teacher and moral guide than her husband. As go a man's standards and code, so go his entire household."

John nodded, "I understand, Father." And he did understand- Abel may have made it his life's mission to prove to the world how holy and righteous he was by depriving his family of any and everything that failed his 'moral standards', but that wasn't the way that his son intended on overseeing his family or household. He would rather have been condemned to damnation before causing his wife to fear and cower before him as Miriam feared and cowered before his father. His children would not grow up in abashed, silent disdain of him. John's family would honor and respect him, but he also intended that they would also freely and truly love him. There would be none of the tyrannical shadow that Abel had cast over his house. John was determined to be different- he _would_ be different.

Abel came closer to him near the window, and John had to resist the urge to step back. "It is my greatest hope that my efforts and instruction of you have not been in vain, John." he said, "I am aware that you and I have not always been in perfect harmony with one another. I am aware that there have been many times in which that you have found my ways to be unsatisfactory." The distaste was apparent on Abel's face as he gave a small shake of his head, "As I am sure you are aware, your mother believes that I have often been too severe in my raising of you."

John didn't know how to respond at first, "Father...I-"

Abel held up his hand to interrupt him mid-sentence though, "No." he said firmly, "There is little use in denying that. Nor will I try to pretend that it has not served as a point of...disagreement between us over the years."

The admission surprised John. To hear his father actually admit that he and his wife were in discord about anything, much less to his own son was outside of Abel's character. It was an admission of an imperfection, a stain on the clean sheet of his household.

"Nevertheless, I stand firm in my belief that everything I have done, every lesson I have striven to teach you, has all been for your benefit. I have been stern and severe with you because that is the way that my father was with me. He taught me many a valuable lesson, but the most important, the most essential of these- was the importance of a man's honor."

"Hear me, John," he said, his face and tone more serious than ever, "We have a good living here. Our land yields good harvest. You and your mother have never wanted for anything. I have had a sufficient income to provide for you both, and leave you a substantial inheritance for when I am gone to amply provide for both your family and your mother. There are many things I have amassed for this family to give thanks for. And yet, all of this, all of these material things would be absolutely worthless to me if I did not first and foremost, have my honor and self-respect."

John nodded, his thoughts already drifting away from what he foresaw as one of his father's endless lectures, "Aye sir, I under-"

"Do you?" Abel cut him off, his voice sharper than before, "Do you _truly_ understand? There have been occasions, John, more than I would wish, that have given me pause about you. Even now, I am uncertain if you truly understand what it is that I say. But today is the day that you begin to build your own household- the day you can no longer be shielded beneath the shadow of my name. After today, every man will no longer see you as merely my son. You will be your own man, with his own reputation and honor to protect and defend. Every word you speak, every decision you make will be under constant scrutiny and critique. Every person in this village will either look to you as an example, or look down upon you as an object of their ridicule. There is no room for neutrality or indifference- not in Salem, not in all of this world. The ability to walk the streets with an uplifted head; to be consulted for wisdom and counsel rather than being forced to constantly seek it; giving your word, and having the knowledge that it will be accepted and respected as absolute truth-there are no greater possessions, no greater claims that a man can have in this world than these, John. If a man cannot rest in this security, he will never find rest in any other matter that he sets his mind to. He will never find peace. He will never find himself."

At the onset of his father's speech, John had at first been paying him little mind, believing that he would be hearing more of the same condescending, patronizing lectures that he had been hearing from Abel for most of his life. The more he went on though, the more attention John found himself paying to the words he heard- really and truly listening to them as he had never listened before. By the time Abel stopped speaking, he was fully engrossed-even nearly overwhelmed by the magnitude of what he heard.

His father sighed heavily, facing him as he went on, "Until this day, I have made every decision for you, with all of these things in consideration. I know you believe that my only wish in this was to control and perhaps even tyrannize you, but this is not the truth. You are my only son, John. You are my only child- the heir to everything I possess. I wished only to protect you," He paused then, looking down at the ground as his voice became quieter, "...That is still my greatest wish."

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. John seemed stricken. To hear his father speak this way brought him no comfort- in truth, it was almost jarring. After a lifetime of brusque and harsh lectures, reprimands and orders, hearing Abel speak to him in what seemed to be actual sentiment and concern was far too much for John to try to take in for one day- even more so on this particular day.

Abel meanwhile, briskly cleared his throat, his voice taking on its familiar, gruff tone, "That however is no longer possible. It is no longer my responsibility to protect you as your father. You must do that for yourself as a man. Do you understand?"

John nodded, "Yes, sir." He bit his lip, pausing as he watched Abel turn towards the door. He called out to stop him, "Father? I...I know that I have not always been the most dutiful, nor the most obedient son. I know I have disappointed you. But I...well, I wish you to know...I never wanted to...that is to say, I did not mean-"

"John," his father held up a hand to silence him, although calmly, "We shall have no more talk of your past behavior. Your trespasses are between you and the Lord- I have forgiven you for ones made against me. Today is not a day for repentance. It is a day of duty. Responsibility. Honor: all yours. Let you dedicate your attentions onto those matters where they be best spent."

John nodded again, his voice thick with the earnest honesty of his words, "I will not fail you in this, Father. I swear it: before you and the Almighty. I will protect and defend the honor of this family. My household will never have a reason to hang its head in shame. The Proctor name shall never lose its honor."

Abel looked at him in silence for a long moment, "Well...then I could hardly ask for more from you." he finally answered. He gestured towards the door, "Come. It is time. Your bride awaits you."

John went ahead of him, going out the door to the stairs down to the first level of the house. Just as he reached the top step, he felt a light, but undeniable pressure on his shoulder.

It was his father's hand.

John didn't turn around, continuing in his footsteps, knowing he was expected to let the gesture go unacknowledged. It was an expectation that he had almost disappointed though; it was the first time in his entire memory that Abel had ever touched him out of affection...

* * *

><p>Elizabeth finished tying the knot that fastened her cap firmly to her head. She swept her fingers along the place where the cloth met her scalp to ensure that no stray hairs has escaped from the cap's confines. She let them flit over the rest of her body briefly, making sure that every other aspect of her attire was in order. Everything was in its ordinary state; she looked as she always did.<p>

It may have been the morning of her wedding, but Elizabeth worse no special adornment for the occasion. The dress that she wore was one of two that she owned- the one that was least faded into a dullish gray color. The fabric at the elbows of the sleeves were the least frayed of the two. And it had the the least amount of stains from cooking, cleaning or gardening that no amount of scrubbing or washing could remove. It would have to suit, even for this momentous event. Her father had forbidden her from making a new gown for her wedding day, or doing anything to seek to improve her appearance, saying it would be taken as a sign of vanity on her part by their neighbors. His harsh restrictions did not apply to himself however.

Almost as soon as the bans were posted for John and Elizabeth's engagement, Josiah had demanded that she begin to sew him an entirely new suit for the wedding, complete with a silken cravat and intricate embroidery. He also intended to see to it that the guests (_his_ guests, as he saw them) could make no complaints as to his hospitality. Elizabeth had been upon her feet in their small kitchen nearly half the night, preparing the food for the dinner that was modest, but nevertheless no small task for her to do in addition to the rest of her chores. It would be an equally modest sized group; her father, the Proctors, the Nurses, Giles and Martha Corey, Thomas and Ann Putnam, and Reverend Swift. That was of little matter to Josiah though; there would be three of the most revered, powerful, and not to mention wealthy families in all of Salem at his table that night, and he intended to flatter and accommodate them as best as he was able.

Elizabeth walked over to her bedroom window, slowly lowering herself down into the chair placed just below the pane. She looked outside at the horizon that became more and more eclipsed by the approaching sunrise. She didn't know how everything had happened so fast, how everything had finally come to this day. There had been a time when she thought that she would be elated to be leaving the oppressive grip of her father's household- but now that the day had finally come, she had no sense of the peace or calm that she was usually able to call upon and use to settle herself.

A knock came at the door. "Enter." she called, then looked over just in time to see Josiah enter the room. He was dressed in the suit that she had made for him. Elizabeth fought back the urge to grimace at the sight of her father. It was obvious that he had grown in girth since the last time she had measured him for the cut and fit of the clothing, even though it was a mere four months ago. The buttons of his shirt strained at the paunch of his belly, the sleeves squeezed too tightly at his arms, and Josiah's breaths came heavy and unevenly, as if the clothes were making it difficult for him to be breathe.

Elizabeth waited, her face a mask of serene civility (even if that wasn't what she felt), "Father."

"Elizabeth." he nodded at her briskly, "I trust you are ready. We shall be departing for the Proctors within the hour."

"I am, Father."

"Before we depart there are some important matters that I wish to discuss with you. You are to be leaving this house for the house of your husband within a matter of moments. I hope that you are prepared for new responsibilities that your marriage will require."

"I am, Father." she repeated.

"I am aware that since your mother's death you have had very little guidance in...feminine matters." he finished awkwardly, "And I did not choose to select a new wife for which to aid you in your understanding of them as you grew. I must confess that there are times when I worry that that was a mistake. But that is neither here nor there now. What is most important is that you understand what will be expected of you in your marriage."

He walked closer to her, clasping his hands behind his back. "You are no doubt aware that the Proctors are one of the more elite families in Salem. Abel and his brothers were always proud- just as proud as their father was before them. The entire clan have always been proud- proud of their land, of their wealth, of their long heritage. It is a grievous fault, but it is nevertheless one for which they remain un-chastised and un-reprimanded. What is more, because of their power and position, it is likely remain so. I know that I brought you up in all humility and modesty, but it is imperative that you understand the difference in the family you are about to enter. The Proctors are not humble, Elizabeth. Neither are they modest: they are proud. They will expect much from you, but above all they will expect that you do nothing to threaten or lessen the honor and pride that they've built up for their family name. As the wife of the only son and heir, your honor and name must be above reproach in the village. There must be no gossip, no scandal that can ever possibly be traced back to you. You must guard the dignity of your person and your family as if it were more precious than gold. Do you understand?"

Elizabeth nodded, "Yes, Father."

"I hope that you are also cognizant of the impression that your behavior as a wife will also leave upon my own name and character. The effectiveness of my instruction and guidance as your father will also be held up to scrutiny. I pray you never forget that above all."

She might have known. For all of his words, Elizabeth was aware that this was Josiah's main and primary concern for her marriage to John Proctor- that she do nothing to bring him the slightest bit of embarrassment or shame. "I would never do anything that might discredit you in the least, Father." she replied steadily, "I will be a good, virtuous wife to Mr. Proctor. I will maintain the honor and reputation their family has built, and that you require at any cost. I swear it."

Josiah nodded, seeming satisfied, "I trust that you will do just that, my daughter. I trust that you will."

* * *

><p>"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocence, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church-"<p>

John stood straight and erect, looking straight ahead of him. He struggled to concentrate on the clergyman's words and remain solely focused upon the momentous occasion at hand, but he still found his thoughts wandering as always. Outside, he could see that the sun was shining brightly, casting warm rays of light into the room and creating an almost luminiscent glow on both the crown of Reverend Swift's bald head, and the wooden crucifix hanging on the wall.

If only he could have had one final day. One more day to think. One more day with which to prepare, to ready himself. One final day before becoming a husband.

"... Therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which Matrimony was ordained."

The words seemed to take on a life of their own from the minister's lips and engulf John like the blustering winds in the fields during the autumn season. The room felt as though it were growing smaller and smaller, all fresh air being sucked out of it and being left with only a hot and stuffy atmosphere. He could feel the eyes of guests of his wedding fixed upon his back, including that of his parents. Elizabeth Kilbourne stood at his right hand. Reverend Swift and The effigy of Christ were stationed in front of him. John was surrounded at all sides, at every turn.

Trapped.

"First, It was ordained for the procreation of children, to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord, and to the praise of his holy Name."

John shut his eyes. It was difficult enough for him to fully process that he was to become a husband within a few mere moments without even attempting to imagine him becoming a father. But it was something that would undoubtedly have to come eventually. He and Elizabeth weren't in love; they scarcely even knew one another. Without love, friendship, or any type of emotional bond between them, what else could there be but children to bind their marriage together?

Reverend Swift was continuing, "...Therefore if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace."

John opened his eyes and pointedly fixed his gaze upon the crucifix on the wall, as if willing the figure of Christ to look at or speak to him. He had managed to come to this moment thus far resolved, but suddenly, at this crucial moment, he felt an irrepressible feeling of uncertainty and doubt.

_Is this truly right?_ He silently asked the effigy, _Is this your will?_

There was no answer from above; no lightning, no thunder, no voice. The entire room was filled with nothing but absolute silence.

Was this to be his 'sign' from God? Was this to be his only answer? Was he supposed to take the silence for approval and confirmation, or for disaproval and a warning?

John was still pondering this, when the words came from Reverend Swift that made all time stand still:

"I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it. For be ye well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God's Word doth allow are not joined together by God; neither is their Matrimony lawful."

John could hear his heart pounding in his ears- it seemed impossible that Reverend Swift could look upon him so calmly- surely he, surely every other guest in the room, must have heard the thundering beat of his pulse. He wondered if his thoughts were written upon his face or peering out of his eyes:

_I do not love her...I do not know her...I fear that I never will..._

He could not help himself; John moved his head ever so slightly, and managed to steal a quick glance at the woman standing beside him. Elizabeth stood straight and tall, her posture almost rigidly erect. There was no betrayal of any kind of emotion on her face that he could see or make out. It was almost as if she were a soldier in the Lord's army, going to into the heat of battle.

She said nothing.

Reverend Swift locked eyes with him, "John Proctor, wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

John's mouth felt dry and constricted. His heart continued to pound wildly and sweat had begun to form beneath his armpits. But there was nothing he could do about any of that- the final moment had come. There was no going back now. It was time.

"I will." he replied hoarsely.

"Elizabeth Kilbourne," the cleric went on, "Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

Elizabeth's voice was steady and clear, "I will."

John stole another glance at her, resisting the urge to shake his head in bewilderment. How calm and composed she looked. So completely serene. How was it that she could appear so? Could it be that that was actually how she felt? Was there truly no anxiety or fear hidden behind those gray eyes?

Reverend Swift looked past the two of them, calling out, "Who giveth this Woman to be married to this Man?"

Josiah Kilbourne ambled his portly torso up a step or two, ceremoniously raising up the right hand of his daughter as if he were one of the three wise men offering their gifts to Joseph, Mary and the Christ child,

"I do." he announced, his voice mired with pompous authority. John stared at the sheen of sweat stains already formed on his father in law's shirt, and the white flecks of spittle at the corners of his mouth, thinking that the old man looked obscene. Then his eyes went to the right hand of Elizabeth that Josiah was still outstretching to him. He slipped his hand over it, his first three fingers just barely touching the first three of her own hand. Despite the lightness of her touch, he was still able to feel the coolness of her skin.

The reverend addressed him again, "I bid thee repeat after me: I, John Proctor take thee Elizabeth Kilbourne to my wedded Wife."

John turned a little to face Elizabeth, inwardly hoping that his face was as resolute and blank as hers,"I... John Proctor, take thee Elizabeth Kilbourne... to my wedded Wife."

The words of remainder of the vow followed, each one making John feel weaker and weaker with the weightiness and obligation that they bound him to. God would forever require him to have, and hold this woman. Whether they were in good or in bad circumstances with one another, whether they were rich or poor, whether they were sick or healthy; God would hold him responsible and expect him to love and cherish Elizabeth.

Reverend Swift turned to Elizabeth, "Woman, I bid thee to repeat after me: I Elizabeth Kilbourne take thee John Proctor to my wedded Husband."

Elizabeth obeyed, giving her vow as steadily and calmly as ever, "I Elizabeth Kilbourne take thee John Proctor to my wedded Husband..."

John searched her face intently as she recited the rest of the vow. Her gaze did not meet his as she spoke, and her eyes were downcast, almost as if she were praying to God rather than making him a vow. He remained so focused upon watching her facial expression that he briefly lost track of the ceremony. It wasn't until Reverend Swift cleared his throat and surreptitiously gestured towards Elizabeth's hand that John realized what he was supposed to be doing next.

The thin wedding band rested on the open pages of the clergyman's Bible. John reached out to retrieve it, then proceeded to slide it on Elizabeth's slender fourth finger. "With this ring..." he murmured, his voice still hoarse, "I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow...In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

The limpness in his legs made John grateful for the next part of the ceremony, where he and Elizabeth were required to kneel down together while Reverend Swift performed the closing prayer,

"O Eterna**l** God, Creator and Preserver of all mankind, Giver of all spiritual grace, the Author of everlasting life; Send thy blessing upon these thy servants, this Man and this Woman, whom we bless in thy Name..."

In his mind, John had commenced to beginning a prayer of his own,

_I do not profess to being in any great understanding of you, Lord. I am not a man in any possession of divine revelation or enlightenment. I am not a saint...But I do wish to do your will. I wish to live a decent life. I wish to be a good man who acts uprightly. I am a humble man who asks nothing of you but this: that you give me the strength and ability to do what is necessary and expected of me in this marriage._

"Those whom God hath joined together," revered Swift pronounced solemnly, "Let no man put asunder."

As he and Elizabeth's hands were once more joined together, John studied her again, his expression somber but resigned,

_I do not love her, Lord. But with your grace and through your mercy...I pray you instruct me that I may care for her, as Christ cares for your church. Help me to be a proper husband and provider for her. Let me grow to love her._

"For as much as this man and this woman have consented together in holy Wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a Ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost...Amen."

The guests in the room all echoed in unanimous response, "Amen."

John closed his eyes, letting out a quiet, but shaky breath from his lungs.

It was done. There could be no going back now. All was final. Settled.

Come what may, he and Elizabeth were married. Forever.


End file.
